Slow Hollows Novels & Stories

The pressure it carried weakened. The cold thinned. The emptiness cracked. It stepped forward again— And collapsed. Not violently. Not explosively. It simply… fell apart. Like a shadow losing its source of light. The others followed. One by one. Breaking. Dissolving. Fading into nothing. Silence fell over the Hollow. Real silence this time. No pressure. No presence. No watching. Gone. --- No one moved. No one spoke. Because we all felt it. Not relief.

Then she whispered to his ears, her eyes resting on me, “Your reward for tonight will be more than what we do. Suck as many places you can. F*k as many places that you can. And eat as many places that you can.” “Oh goddess you’re making me c*m already, baby.” For a moment I taught if there had known where they were. If they had been doing a lot at the secret doesn’t mean it will be a show in public. In front of the pack. “She was nothing before this night,” she added softly, loud enough for everyone to hear as she moved towards me. “And she’ll return to nothing now.” The circle broke. The fire dimmed. “Winter Hollow, dismiss.” Elder Soran screamed.

**KELLY THOMPSON'S POV** The moon's corpse left a void in the sky, a starless wound that bled silence. In its absence, the laws of the world frayed. Rivers ran backward. Wolves gave birth to stillborn shadows. The plague-veins in Eden's arms lay dormant but restless, a sleeping storm neither he nor Isolde could name. The packs called it *the Hollowing*-a sickness of the soul, a hunger for what the moon had taken.

The Silver Claw territory’s twilight hollow lay cradled in the embrace of a nascent dawn, where the first whispers of a waxing gibbous moon lingered, its silver glow a faint promise above a sky bruised with violet and gold. The hollow was a sacred refuge, a sunken grove ringed by ancient yews, their gnarled branches heavy with dark berries, leaves shimmering with dew, exhaling a musky tang that wove through the air, blending with the sweet bloom of night-blooming jasmine and the earthy richness of moss carpeting the ground. A crystal-clear spring bubbled at the hollow’s heart, its waters sparkling, reflecting the dawn in prismatic flecks, its soft gurgle a hymn of resilience. Vines of moonfl

He pulled off his shirt. The vibrio vibrated, energy seemed to gather around the teenager, and a high-pitched call echoed through the room. The supernatural sound slid into Stralath's brain—a seductive intrusion. "Angels." Coco gasped. "I hear angels." To Stralath, it sounded more like the call of a sea creature. Like the whale sounds, he'd studied. But he understood the beauty. His heart warmed at the choir in his head, and his muscles relaxed as a gill opened on Bobby's neck. From the opening, four glowing lures unfolded like sprouting shoots. They danced as they unwinded, and a bioluminescent blue glow lit up the walls.

It was a place they came to bleed. We’d set up camp just below the ridgeline, tucked behind a sloped wedge of rock that blocked the worst of the wind. Kael said nothing when I collapsed onto the ground, knees aching, breath fogging. He just dropped his satchel and walked to the edge, staring down into the Hollow. It was quiet. Not the good kind of quiet. The kind that leans in too close. That waits for you to exhale. The kind that hums beneath your teeth and presses against the sides of your skull like a whisper you almost remember.

I count the lights. There are lights in the Hollow. Small. Green. Pulsing in no rhythm that makes sense. At first I think they are fish. They are not fish. They move in straight lines, and fish do not move in straight lines. They move past me, one and then another and then three in a slow procession, going up while I am going down, as if they are the exhalations of something breathing slowly at the bottom.

“It’s singing.” “No,” Serena whispered, voice thick. “They are.” Elias stepped beside her, face tilted to the sky. “The ashes?” Serena nodded, watching the embers drifting on the breeze like petals. “They remember us. And now they’re answering.” The Hollow Transforms Where once the Hollow had been a dead wound in the world—quiet, forgotten, scorched—it now pulsed with life. Vines curled across stone, shimmering like veins of gold. Petals unfurled from branches thought long dead. The blackened earth healed beneath their feet, glowing faintly like an ember-stained tapestry.

They couldn't have seen them anyway, for darkness unlike any other suddenly settled around them, causing them to shriek to the bites, the rips of flesh, the dread that enveloped them. Every man had his voice and hands raised, groping in the darkness, hoping to escape the pain. But soon, every man's voice was silenced as the darkness lifted, and all that remained was the night. All that was left of the site were lots of scattered bones, five beings gently stirring, and more terrifying whispers, whispering. Then the distinct, cold whisper of Rose Steele came, and it said, "Now, let's find them."

I know for a fact that if I was truly settled and contented with what I have for the past centuries, I would have died by now. But I’m not dead, so my heart hasn’t reached it’ contentment. And while I don’t wish to see how it ends, there’s a longing curiosity inside of me that seeks to know what it is could sedate a monster like me. There was none, I thought. Until it happened. The black and white scene. Flashing an image of a school's playground with two people talking to each other. One girl and one boy, smiles on their faces as they both let the wind sway their swings.